


New Life Choices

by sunryder



Series: Breath Control [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phillip J. Coulson was stuck in his undesirable role as the undeclared Beta Sentinel Prime of New York City. </p>
<p>Well, Phil called it undesirable, but he knew full well that Sentinels had a long history of killing Alphas and Betas they found unworthy of the name, so there must be someone, somewhere, who was willing to take on the role. </p>
<p>That someone just didn’t happen to be Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Phillip J. Coulson was stuck in his undesirable role as the undeclared Beta Sentinel Prime of New York City.

 

To make matters worse, his status as Beta probably extended to New York State, New England, and quite possibly the whole East Coast. (There was a widowed Sentinel in DC who might be able to give Phil’s Alpha a run for his money, but the man in question had refused to have a thing to do with any of the packs since the death of his Non-Gifted wife.)

 

Well, Phil called it _undesirable_ , but he knew full well that Sentinels had a long history of killing Alphas and Betas they found unworthy of the name, so there must be someone, somewhere, who was willing to take on the role.

 

That someone just didn’t happen to be Phil.

 

When the other Sentinels of his youth had waxed long and ridiculous about how someday _they_ were going to be an Alpha Prime, Phil had just rolled his eyes and gone back to his comic books. Practically speaking, less than one Sentinel in a hundred had the raw strength to make them an Alpha of any sort. Then, when you factored in leadership ability, the Guide in the relationship, and the sheer charisma that most Alphas seemed to possess, that ratio dropped to one in five thousand. Even more, life experience had taught Phil that Primes were meant to be people like Captain America: devoting their whole lives to the service of humankind and _earning_ the right to be called Prime.

 

Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and that exception was named Tony Stark.

 

According to an SI press release, the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark had forced young Tony into coming online as a Sentinel. But since Stark had refused to come in to the Sentinel Center for training, the rest of the Gifted assumed that Stark barely registered on the scale and SI was pretending that he was a fully-fledged Sentinel to bump up their stock prices. (After all, no one could imagine a Stark keeping quiet about his gifts if he could brag about them instead.) With that disbelief firmly in place, and Stark doing nothing to counteract it, Tony probably could’ve spent the rest of his life with his Sentinel status as nothing but an unread footnote in one of his multiple biographies.

 

At least, he would’ve if human rights activists hadn’t tried to break into the SI building, and turned fate against both him and Phil.

 

The activists weren’t very good at storming the gates and didn’t end up make it past the lobby, but as the FBI’s rising star in Counterintelligence, Phil was dragged on to the case as a precaution. So Phil wasn’t supposed to be investigating, and Stark wasn’t supposed to be in the building while the Feds were roaming around, and neither one of them were supposed to cross paths in damn lobby where every last FBI-affiliated Sentinel and Guide were able to watch them meet cute like they were in their own twisted rom-com. But they were, and they did. The moment young Tony Stark met eyes across the crowded lobby with Phil Coulson, his senses recognized his Beta, and Stark couldn’t hide himself anymore.

 

From one breath to the next Stark went from a virtually unrecognized member of the Gifted to the undeclared Alpha Sentinel Prime of New York. The man’s unbonded state meant he couldn’t actually take control over the tribe, but Phil was quick to learn that Stark was Stark, and he never did things the way he was supposed to. Rather than bow down and let the constantly changing pack leaders try to prove their strength by ordering him around, Stark stepped outside the pack system. He flitted from New York to California and back again, making it clear that no one had the strength to force him into line.

 

Which is how Phil had found himself here: the head of SI Security and the Beta Prime of New York at the ripe old age of 23.

 

For two years he and Stark had ignored their implied station and their relationship with one another, but then Stark had hit 21, assumed control of SI, and somehow managed to transfer Phil into the private sector all in one afternoon. Now, with Stark a year older and Phil at 26, they were ruthless, relentless, dangerously unbalanced without their Guides, and beloved by nearly every citizen of New York. (Or rather, _Tony_ was beloved and Phil was the man behind the curtain who kept getting in between Stark and the people who were pissed that he’d stopped making weapons. Both of which were the way Phil preferred things.)

 

The presented a united front to the world, Tony’s ever-growing charisma and smiles kept them popular, while Phil’s tactical mind kept Tony from doing any irreversible damage. Occasionally they still had the knock down, drag out fights they use to have when Phil couldn’t take it anymore and instinct drove him to meet up with his Alpha. In every last one of those fights they’d each blamed the other for dragging them out of their nicely planned lives and into a responsibility neither had ever wanted. (Only, much to both of their frustration, it was difficult to stay mad at the man your gut told you was meant to be your best friend.)

 

Although Phil was actually in Tony’s employ, Stark still insisted that at least once a week they had an out-of-office meeting. This particular time Stark had gone with a greasy spoon in Brooklyn, taking a sadistic thrill in forcing Phil to eat at a place he would’ve rather attacked with a scrub brush. Stark loved to drag Phil to these places, partly so people could see Tony out and about, and partly because Stark liked to see how far he could push Phil’s senses before he went for his gun. (Of course, the one time that Stark _had_ managed to force Phil into a zone, Stark had spent the next three months developing better Kevlar vests that he generously donated to the whole of the FBI. Starting with Phil’s department.)

 

Despite Phil needing to restrain the desire to scan every surface of the diner for signs of contagions, Phil managed to enjoy his butter-laden BLT, and the coffee was dangerously potent in just the way both he and Stark preferred. In fact, it was shaping up to be an enjoyable afternoon, right up until 34 minutes and 17 seconds into their lunch when Phil caught the scent of something… new.

 

The brush of the smell came clean and clear across his senses, wiping away the slick of grease and caffeine that clogged the establishment’s air. That scent gave Coulson a lightness he hadn’t felt since he first came online. Guide or not, Coulson was nothing if not orderly, and his own control had kept him in good mental and sensory health throughout all the years that he’d been without a Guide. But suddenly control was effortless in a way that it had never been before.

 

Stark and the easy breadth of his gifts made other powerful Sentinels skittish for a reason, and before Phil’s higher brain function even realized what he was scenting, Stark was on his feet. His phone was out, calling Pepper Potts to have her prepare a room at Stark Tower for a Guide in distress. It was moments like this that despite Stark’s age and the effort he went to to conceal his status, that no self-respecting Sentinel could deny that Stark was the Prime, because Phil didn’t even stop to think about letting Stark handle the orders.

 

In a heartbeat, Phil was running down the street, hunting the scent that had been haunting the back of his mind his entire life.

 

Phil knew his history, knew that in the 1800s Sentinels began telling the rest of the world that soul bonding was nothing more than a figment of the Gifted’s barbaric past. They professed that modern science had convinced them that matches between Sentinels and Guides were more a matter of choice than a matter of finding the other half of your soul. Of course, it wasn’t a lie in its entirety. The less powerful Sentinels and Guides usually didn’t feel the all-consuming need to search out their missing half, and tragically those Guides had historically been forced into bonds of necessity that didn’t suit them the way they should. The lie shifted the power away from those corrupt Sentinels and let the umatched Guides in their community have a voice that had been too long denied to them. The Center kept perpetuating the lie because it was to their benefit, but no matter what they claimed, the more powerful the Sentinel, the stronger the call.

 

And Phil, Phil could feel it in the air. He knew that for the first time in his life the scent that had been taunting him since he was a child was now in reach.

 

Phil could tell from the scant traces that his Guide was young and male. Older than puberty but still less than a man. If at 22 Stark didn’t have virtually the same overtones of youth, Phil would’ve been tempted to call the Center to tell them they should send an agent to rendezvous with him and make sure the young man’s interests were adequately represented. Though, under normal circumstances, Coulson decided that the Guide’s age, plus the fact that Tony Stark was one of the few Alphas on the coast who could out-alpha Phil, meant that he could be pardoned for ignoring protocol. Logic and reason, which had been the benchmarks of Coulson’s style as a Sentinel, seemingly had no place in the face of that scent.

 

The Guide smelled of sweat, pure exhaustion, and absolute terror. All with underlying hints of wooda strange kind of wax, and something that he actually thought was elephant. Most importantly, coming up on the boy hard and fast was the scent of another Sentinel, one in a rage.

 

The Guide ( _Phil's_ Guide) must've known he was being hunted, otherwise he wouldn't have been carrying on when obviously the only thing he wanted to do was sleep.

Tony called out to the Sentinels who always hovered in the shadows around him when he left the privacy of Stark Tower. "Someone stop the feral bastard chasing that kid!”

 

Several unknown Sentinels shouted back that they were on it. Phil should've been relieved that someone was on their way since he and Tony were still two minutes away from catching up, and all sorts of things could happen to the young Guide in that time. But Phil couldn't stomach the thought of some other Sentinel anywhere near his Guide. Of course, karma decided that Phil needed to get his priorities straight since they were still 45 seconds away when there was a sharp whistle of something streaking through the air and the first of the Sentinels screamed in pain.

 

Phil may not have been Stark, but you didn't get to be a Beta without influence of your own, and when he called out, "Report!" one of the uninjured Sentinels replied, "Bastard's got a bow, Sir!"

 

"The Guide!" Phil demanded.

 

"Got out of range quick. At this point we're just keeping the Sentinel busy until someone with a gun gets here."

 

Phil didn't bother replying, and didn't bother pulling his weapon. He rounded the corner at a blur, taking in the sight of a man with a blunt crew cut and an unwashed stench standing in the middle of the road, screaming obscenities while he fired at any Sentinel who got too close. The Sentinels who'd answered the call obviously weren't combat trained, since the archer was still standing. Phil didn't break pace heading for the man, taking advantage of the fact this abomination was shooting in the other direction. The archer whipped around, his senses warning him of someone's approach. He fired an arrow straight at Phil's chest. Unlike these other Sentinels, Phil had spent most of his young life in the military and he easily bobbed out of the way of the oncoming arrow.

 

The man grimaced, baring his teeth in irritation before he fired off a rapid spree of arrows at various parts of Phil's body, trying to anticipate his next movements so a bolt would catch him while he was slipping out of the way of the one before. Phil made it safely through the first few arrows with the sure knowledge that the archer was good enough and fast enough to take him down before he got in range, and hopefully that surety would be distraction enough for Stark to come in from the side and finish the job.

 

However, Phil's planning for Stark hadn't taken into account the Guide that they'd been trying to save.

 

Out of nowhere there came another arrow. The angle meant the Guide hadn't fled the scene like the other Sentinels had guessed, but instead, he’d scaled one of the fire escapes and had been watching the scene play out below him. The Guide's shot had taken into account thecrazed Sentinel tracking Phil, anticipating his next move and piercing the Sentinel's hand in the breath before he released.

 

The feral Sentinel crumpled in on himself with a scream, and Phil kicked out, slamming his feet first into the archer's face. The man landed hard on his back, and Phil took a moment to force the bow away before he dropped to the archer's chest, Phil's shins keeping the man's arms trapped on the ground and one knee pressing into his throat. The archer tried to kick up and dislodge Phil, but he jabbed his knee a litter harder into the man's jugular and that cut the fight right out of him.

 

Stark roamed over causally, one hand in the somehow still pressed pocket of his slacks and the other with a cell phone pressed to his ear, informing the Center that there was a nearly feral, rogue Sentinel running around Brooklyn and why in the hell wasn't one of their representatives here already since they were so adamant that they were supposed to be the actual law among Sentinels. Stark hung up at the precise moment the archer dropped unconscious thanks to the pressure Phil was putting on his carotid artery.

 

Stark quirked his eyebrow. "That was efficient."

 

Phil just snorted and moved off the body, trusting Stark to handle the man on the off chance he should wake up before the Center got someone out there with Sentinel-proof restraints. Phil paused to straighten the cuffs of his suit jacket and reign himself back in. The adrenaline of a not particularly satisfying fight was just enough to amp Phil up, whichwas not the state of mind he wanted to be in when his Guide had just been hunted by a Sentinel who obviously didn't know the meaning of the word no. So instead, Phil gathered himself back into something resembling respectability and very slowly turned to look up at the fire escape where his Guide was hiding.

 

###

 

Contrary to popular belief, Clint Barton was not an idiot. He'd watched enough crap tv to know that when a Sentinel took down another Sentinel in pursuit of a Guide, they were either about to sweep that Guide off their feet, or that Sentinel was secretly the bad guy. Which is why when the Sentinel who'd been charging at Buck like the arrows couldn't touch him—despite Buck being two straight arrows away from catching the guy in a cinch that would've gotten him an arrowheadto the heart—looked up at the escape where Clint was crouched, he ducked back into the little shade thatthe balcony gave him as a hiding place

 

The bastard had the nerve to smile up at Clint. The kind of stupid grin that girls at the circus gave their boyfriends when theykept trying to win a stuffed animal for them from the rigged games. Like the boys were being stupid, but they girls liked them for it anyway. The unbridled affection in the guy's face was more than Clint could stand, since the guy obviously had to have him mistaken for someone else. Clint took that as a sign to get the hell out of dodge before the guy realized that he'd just risked his life for someone he didn't even know.

 

Clint slipped his bow back over his shoulder, partially concealed by the mostly empty backpack that contained all his worldly possessions. He came out of his crouch long enough to take one long look at the guy down on the street, to soak in that smile and just pretend for a moment that the affection the Sentinel was showing was meant for Clint. Then Clint sprang up the ladder and ran for the top of the building.

 

He looked down at the next landing, just to make sure the guy wasn't following him—not because he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing his face again or anything—and saw a look of confusion break over the guy’s features before he started for the ladder at a sprint.

 

Clint's stomach dropped out underneath him, and he panicked that the guy wasn't even going to let him get away now that he'd figured out Clint wasn't who he was looking for. It hurt to have the illusion of a good Sentinel shattered so quickly, but Clint buried down the irrational hurt and blitzed up the ladder all the faster. The guy was coming up hard, but Clint was light on his feet and had spent more than his fair share of time on a trapeze, so he gave himself good odds of getting off to the roof before the guy got near enough to do any damage. Depending on the kind of roof, Clint might even be long gone before the guy made it to the top.

 

Clint forced himself to think about the next step after that. To think about something other than turning around and trying explain. He would have to find someplace with a terrible smell to run through to throw off his scent trail while Buck was explaining to the authorities about how his Guide had run away from him again. They'd let Buck go (they always did), but maybe it would buy Clint enough time to hide out someplace and put together some cash to get the hell out of dodge.

 

For all he liked to pretend at being a real Sentinel, Buck's sight was hisonly sense. He was nothing but a two-bit pretender who liked the extra cash the circus brought in thanks to his act as the "Famous Shooting Sentinel." When thatstarted to dry up he talked the Swordsman into loaning him Clint, and like the stupid kid he'd been, he thought it was a great idea. He'd let Buck and Barney get him drunk, only to wake up the next morning with a bonding bite on his throat. He hated Buck, would hate him until his very last breath, but that bite had meant he’d gotten his bow. Clint figured that he could accept that he’d never find the Sentinel his mom had always told him he'd get someday, since his bow was the real love of his life.

 

Of course, knowing that didn't make him hurt any less about the Sentinel he should be trying to leave behind.

 

Clint took the last set of stairs at a full sprint, using his momentum to leap up and land on the railing of the fire escape, then spring up to get a grip on the hanging edge of the rooftop. With a little more time he could've stuffed his fingers into the sharp holes between bricks where mortar used to be and use that to scale the building's face, but the Sentinel was hard on his tail and if he didn't get out of range in the next few seconds the guy was going to be grab him by the backpack and haul him back down to the ground.

 

Clint's got a fingerful of the roofline and kicked against the building's side to scramble himself up. But the Sentinel below called out, "Guide!" pained and almost desperate, and Clint's fingers gave way all of their own accord. There was a moment when he could've gotten away scot free, been up and over that edge before the Sentinel had the chance to blink, but he couldn't make himself do it.

 

He dropped down to the fire escape with only the barest thump of sound, then drew his bow and turned it down through the grating at his feet. "What do you want?"

 

The Sentinel slowed to a walk, still coming up the last two landings that separated them but going slow enough that any idiot could've hit him, let alone Clint. "I want to talk."

 

Clint released the arrow, slipping it neatly through the levels of metal grating to lodge in a flower box where the Sentinel's hand had been a moment before. "You don't have to get closer to talk."

 

The Sentinel actually had the stones to smirk at the arrow nearly hitting him. A little grin, just enough to soften his face, and Clint was hit by the strange rush to make the man smile again. Instead, Clint fought the impulse down and drew another arrow. The man held his hands out the side, giving Clint an open view past the lapels of his jacket, showing the gun he had tucked in his shoulder holster. Clint jerked his chin in the direction of the weapon. "You go for that, and I shoot you."

 

"I go for that and I deserve to be killed. However there's a Sentinel down on the ground who'd be happy to do the killing for you."

 

Clint snorted, "You think I can't take you down myself, old man?"

 

There was the stranger flicker across the Sentinel's face, some part of Clint knew it was distaste, but some other part thought might've been pleasure. Either way, it was gone too quick for Clint to parse it out. The Sentinel bit his tongue, apparently stuck on hisconfusion between the two emotions just the same as Clint. After a long moment he replied, "I'm sure you could, but I don't like the thought of forcing you to kill."

 

"Nobody forces me to do anything." The Sentinel just quirked an eyebrow,like he thought Clint was full of shit. Clint fired another arrow, straight past the Sentinel's temple, and the man didn't flinch. Again that eyebrow went up, and Clint fought back his own desire to either smile or shoot.

 

"Then why are you running?"

 

"Because you guys say it's not 'forcing' when it's your Sentinel." The man sunk back against the railing, making a wounded sound like Clint had just caught him in the chest with an arrow. Before he could remind himself that this was a _terrible_ idea, Clint hopped the rails and landed in front of the man, crowding in to his space. "Are you alright?"

 

The man's hand darted out, flicking back the collar of Clint's shirt to reveal the scarred-over bite mark at the junction of his throat and shoulder. Clint had gotten choosy about his clothes since the bite, picking things that hugged the sides of his neck to keep the mark as covered as he could. His common sense and his flight instincts said to shove the man back and keep running, but for some reason he felt safe here. Felt good about having this stranger's hands so close to his skin.

 

At the sight of the mark the Sentinel froze, every muscle going stiff while he stared at the bite in horror.The man all but keened in pain before he croaked, "How?"

 

Clint reached out and braced the man's face between his hands, forcing him to look up from the bite mark that he found so disturbing. He waited until the Sentinel met his eyes, trying desperately hard, for some reason, to spare him all the pain he could. "I didn't _mean_ to."

 

The Sentinel had been frozen before, like he'd been overwhelmed and needed the moment to understand. Now he was still, like the breath before Clint released an arrow. With jaw clenched to keep himself from shouting, the man asked, "How can you not 'mean' to bond?"

 

Clint had never felt particularly ashamed of the circumstances of his bond before. He hated it, but it was what it was and being sensitive wasn't going to change things. But now, he wanted to blush, to curl up someplace and cower the way he did when his father came home smelling like piss and cigarettes. Clint Barton didn't let people make him feel inferior, and he was half a beat away from punching the Sentinel and telling him to go screw himself when the man rested his forehead against Clint's. "Guide," he breathed, like Clint was something holy. "Did he force you?"

 

Clint's eyes flutteredshut, the gentle press of skin to skin stripping him of all the pent up rage **.** The Sentinel was with him now, and that meant everything was going be alright. In his bones he knew that he would protect the Sentinel, and the Sentinel would protect him in return. Everything was going to be okay.

 

But, it wasn't really. Was it?

 

This Sentinel wasn't his, Buck was.

 

Clint tried to pull away, but the Sentinel put a hand on the back of his neck and held him tight, still pressed together. The Sentinel didn't understand; he had to think that Clint was just misunderstanding the bite, the bond. He must be thinking that the hum between them was something they could keep. But Clint had to tell him, had to, even though all he wanted was towrap the man up and keep him safe from Buck. Safe from Clint bonding to someone before he ever got the chance to meet the Sentinel before him, before he ever got to know his name.

 

"He told me that it was the only way we could stay together."

 

The Sentinel's hand spasmed on the back of Clint's neck before he evenly replied, "Did you… _want_ to stay together?"

 

"Well, he is my brother."

 

**"** "You mean to tell me the creature down there is your _brother_?" The Sentinel all but vibrated with fury at the thought and Clint ran quick fingers through his hair.

 

"No, no, no, babe. Barney, my brother, he said that we were getting too expensive for the circus, we didn't bring in enough money. But if I bonded with Buck they couldn't get rid of me, and I'd help Buck make enough money that they'd keep Barney too."

 

"You're running." The Sentinel couldn't quite find a way to ask how he'd gone from the belief that getting bonded would save his brother to end up here instead.

 

"Turns out it wasn't so much about staying together as it was Barney wanting to make a better act for Buck so the two of them could cash in on it."

 

"So you tried to get away."

 

"Tried a couple of times, but this is the first time we've been close enough to a city for me to get away for more than a few hours."

 

The Sentinel cradled him a little closer, their touch of foreheads turning instead to a hug, clinging to one another like this was about to end. Clint tried to take a step back, he really did, but the Sentinel wouldn’t let him go. (And maybe Clint wasn’t trying all that hard.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luminousblade bribed me into continuing this with actual, tangible brownies. (Well, a brownie recipe. Which was *spectacular*.) Don't be surprised if you see Clint baking in the next chapter.

“Not that this isn’t adorable—because really, it is, and I’ll definitely be blackmailing the both of you with photos for the rest of your lives—but someone thought they were being helpful and called the Center. So unless you feel like being subjected to their bureaucratic love and care, we need to get you off the street, kid.”

 

Stark just kept tapping away on his cell, firing off texts to Pepper and JARVIS, not at all concerned that at his interruption the Guide had hauled Phil around behind him and pointed an arrow down through the grate at Tony.

 

Tony, who just kept strolling up the fire escape.

 

Phil set soft hands on the Guide’s hips in a silent request that he avoid shooting at Tony for as long as possible. Phil knew it would happen eventually, it always did with Tony, but he would prefer that it happened later rather than sooner. And maybe happened someplace without witnesses.

 

Despite that, the Guide kept his shot steady and Phil could feel fury in the boy’s voice when he demanded, “And why would the Center give a shit about me now?”

 

“Because you’re Coulson’s Guide, and they like to punish him any way they can because he out-paperworks them.”

 

“Coulson,” the Guide breathed, too quiet to be entirely on purpose. Phil shivered at even part of his name crossing his Guide’s lips, and the boy pressed back against Phil’s chest. At least, he did until Tony smirked at the unintended show of affection. The boy popped up like he’d been stung. “They’ll make me go with him.”

 

That actually made Tony stop typing. He looked up from his phone and leaned to the side so he could look out and around the Guide and get a clear view of Phil. “He’s talking about the unconscious guy down on the pavement, right?”

 

“Yes,” the Guide spat. “I am.”                                                 

 

“Since you sound like you’d rather shoot everyone _ever_ than go with him, I’m gonna guess no. Instead they’ll probably keep you at the Center until you’re eighteen and they have to release you as an independent adult. Which means all your visits with Coulson will be supervised until you come of age. If they’re feeling pissy they might send you to a Center outside New York just to make it more difficult for Coulson to be anywhere near you.”

 

“I’m twenty.”

 

Phil’s hands clenched on his Guide’s hips, more overcome at the thought of him being able to consent to a bonding than Coulson would like to admit.  “I call bullshit,” Tony drolled. “And even _I_ think it’s mean to pretend like you’re old enough to bond with him. Coulson’s gonna track down your birth certificate now, just to know when he’s legally allowed and try to touch you.”

 

Even though Stark hadn’t meant it that way, Phil peeled his fingers away from sharp bone of his Guide’s hip. They boy froze, hovering in the indecision of leaning back against Phil to force his hands right back where they belonged, or lurching forward to put some space between their skin. Which is what he did.

 

“I’d wait if that’s what he wanted, but the Center isn’t gonna give a shit since the ‘unconscious guy’ down there is my Sentinel. If you think I’m his,” the Guide nodded to Coulson, “and that all the Center wants is to hurt him, them I’m gonna get sent right back where I came from.”

 

“No you’re not.”

 

Phil didn’t have to see the Guide’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

 

It wasn’t often that Tony let himself just _be_. But today, he peeled back a corner on the mental shielding he kept wrapped around him. A few of the more powerful Sentinels down on the street glanced up at the change, but for the young Guide standing before him, that glimpse alone was like getting smacked upside the head.

 

Phil had been told that his own presence was so steady that even when he left his mind bare, most Gifted couldn’t tell the difference. They just felt like things were suddenly more doable than they were a few seconds before. Stronger Gifted recognized where the extra stability was coming from, but still, Phil was too even-keeled for anyone to have a sharp reaction to him.

 

Tony though, Tony was a fury.

 

His gifts whipped around him like electrons around an unstable molecule. There was an order to his chaos that had taken Phil months to determine, but when Tony let himself be seen, most people just felt themselves get caught up in a mental hurricane.

 

Phil’s Guide snuck his hand back and grabbed Phil’s wrist, automatically seeking out the perfect counter to Tony’s manic energy. “You made your point,” the Guide croaked.

 

“Good, I hate doing that.” The Guide cocked his head to the side like a bird, and Tony replied, “You’re not the only one who’s tried to run away.”

 

“Why didn’t you? They couldn’t have stopped you.”

 

“I did for a long time. But then I met Coulson, and well,” Tony smirked. “You can’t hide from Coulson.”

 

“You say it like I dragged you out of obscurity, Mr. billionaire inventor and CEO of his own company.”

 

“Everyone thought I was an incompetent Sentinel until I met you. Without you no one would’ve ever made me their Alpha.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Tony sprawled back against the metal rail of the fire escape, ready to regale Phil’s Guide with a disgustingly blown of a proportion version of their first meeting, but both Tony and Phil paused. They could hear the annoying hum of one of the Center’s cars two blocks out. “I’ll tell you the long version soon, but the bastard just makes everything seem reasonable. Now, you’ve got two choices. Either you can hang out here for the Center, or Happy’s got the car down there.”

 

The Guide glanced down at one of Tony’s more practical cars idling at the end of the block, ready to head to the mansion from the opposite end of the street where the Center’s representative would arrive. The Guide turned back to Coulson and fixed him with a thousand-yard stare. “You’ll come for me?”

 

“Always.” Phil had meant it for it to be one of those beautiful bonding moments you saw in movies, but it wasn’t until the Guide flashed Phil a lecherous little smile that Phil caught the double entendre. Phil blushed, the boy smirked, and jumped over the railing. Phil dove forward, thinking he’d need to catch the boy before he went plummeting to his death. But instead, the Guide bounced lightly off the rail two floors below them, then to the brick of the building, and then back and forth again and again until he hit the pavement in a roll. He twisted around in his jog to send Phil a jaunty grin before he turned back and ducked into the waiting car.

 

Tony whistled. “Oh, you’re in trouble.”

 

 

#####

 

 

Clint kept himself from laughing at Coulson’s expression until he dove into the car. Only, waiting for him in the backseat was the most intimidating woman Clint had ever seen, and he’d spent his youth hanging out with the Bearded Lady. “Uh…” Clint had a moment of panic at jumping into the wrong car, which would totally ruin the cool he’d been shooting for.

 

The woman quirked her eyebrow at him and gave him enough of a smile that he thought she might let him slip out the far door and pretend like he hadn’t fumbled his exit. “We’re ready to go, Happy.”

 

The driver gave a chipper affirmative and smiled his hello at Clint before pulling out. “His name really is Happy? I thought Tony was shitting me.”

 

If possible, the lady’s manicured eyebrow went even higher. “No, he was not…” Clint’s stomach clenched, because the last thing he needed was to make a bad impression on anyone in Coulson’s life. He didn’t need this lady dropping him off at the Center or telling Coulson that a grubby circus kid was not worth getting in trouble for.

 

But then, her bright red lips quirked up and she finished, “Shitting you. Mr. Stark is usually a terrible liar, but he’ll stick to the lie even when everyone knows he’s wrong.”

 

“Am I one of those wrong things?” The second the words left Clint’s lips he knew he shouldn’t have said them, but he figured it was better to know now than know later.

 

“Mr. Stark has a habit of making his wrong lies the right reality.”

 

The woman turned to her phone with the same casual disregard as Stark. Clint watched her texting away for a few moments, taking in the sleek lines of her tech cradled in her finely manicured hands. Clint clenched his own into fists to keep himself from looking at his dirty skin and the scars from every time he missed. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

 

“Happy and I are taking you to Stark Mansion where I’ll get you a hot meal and a shower. Hopefully by that point Mr. Stark will be back, and Mr. Coulson will tell me all the direct and implied threats that the Center made, and we’ll make a plan to go forward.”

 

“And is sending me back to Buck gonna be one of those threats?”

 

The woman kept typing out her e-mail as she asked, “Buck would be the Sentinel who attempted to force a bond on you?”

 

“Stark keeps calling it forced, yeah.”

 

“What do you want to happen with him?”

 

“Well, what are my options?”

 

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

 

“What do you do when you have no idea what in the hell is going on?”

 

A little twitch of the lady’s lips was all Clint got to know she thought he was funny. “We can let him go. We can turn him over to the Center for counseling. We can turn him over to the regular judicial system and he can go to prison for child abuse. Or because he attempted to force a bond on an underage Guide he’ll be tried for sexual assault on a minor.”

 

Hearing the word ‘sex’ come out of her posh mouth made Clint want to spontaneously combust. “He never touched me. Uh, that way.”

 

“Did he have sex with anyone else while you were bonded?”

 

“Well, yeah. We’ve been bonded for ‘years and he wasn’t have sex with _me_.”

 

“Did you feel that sexual activity through your link?” Clint squeaked, and the lady actually looked up at that. “I doubt he meant to share his arousal with you, but he lacks the mental discipline to stop himself from doing it, and you’re strong enough that you can pick it up without trying.”

 

“I, uh, I only could tell the first time. Then I figured out how to… turn it off.”

 

“The charges would still stand. You had to forcibly stop an adult Sentinel from making you an underage voyeur.”

 

“Are those my only options?” Clint stumbled out, trying to stop talking about Buck and sex. He’d been horrified when he figured out why he got horny every time Buck dropped by the acrobat’s trailer, and he didn’t need to be reminded about it.

 

“There’s another option, but given that you keep trying to defend his actions I doubt you’d like it.”

 

“Tell me anyway.”

 

“Given the severity of his crimes, most of the Gifted community would prefer that Buck have the part of his brain that makes him a Sentinel turned off. It would permanently strip him of his abilities and Gifted status, and then we turn him over to the regular justice system.”

 

“But, I’m bonded to him. If you turn him off, what happens to me?”

 

“How old are you?” The woman tangented.

 

“I’m—”

 

“How old are you _actually_. You can tell me now or Stark Legal can find it for me.”

 

Clint gave it a good few seconds of thought, trying to decide if he’d rather lie again and maybe get Coulson to touch him before they figured it out. But Clint wasn’t called Hawkeye for nothing, and he could see that the lady was exchanging e-mails with somebody who sounded like they were Perry Mason. “Seventeen.”

 

“And if you’ve been ‘bonded for years’, then he forced a bond on you before you were of the age of consent, and before your body was ready for it. Had the system been taking care of you the way they were supposed to, ever since puberty you would’ve been treated every four months with a shot that prevents bonding hormones from being activated. That way if a Sentinel your own age accidentally bit you during sex, or if a bonding bite was forced on you, you would be protected from an actual bonding.

 

If for some reason the shot didn’t take, or if you refused the shot for whatever reason, there are drugs you can take in the immediate aftermath of a bond to prevent them from settling. If the bond between you was strong enough to endure the post-bite preventative measures, there is still a regiment of drugs, meditation, and therapy that would remove any trace of it from your psyche.”

 

“So, that’s what I’m gonna have to do?”

 

“According to Mr. Stark you could barely keep your hands of Mr. Coulson. That, plus your physical immaturity when the bonding bite occurred, and that the bite was coerced, I imagine one or two courses of the Morning After shots will do the trick. Or, if you’d prefer, Tony has the city’s best healing Guides on retainer, so any one of them would be happy to simply unweave the fragile strands of the bond.”

 

Clint slumped back against the chair. Five minutes ago he’d thought that he’d spend the rest of his life stuck with some part of him tied to Buck. He believed Coulson when the man said Clint was his, and believed Stark when he said that the Center wasn’t going to force him to go back to the circus with Buck. But he also knew that bonds couldn’t be broken. But now, now it seemed like Clint might actually get a life. “Which would you do?”

 

“Given that I am neither a Sentinel nor a Guide, I would probably go with the medication.”

 

“And what do you think I should do?”

 

“Since I already plan on arranging meetings between you and every worthwhile Guide in the city, you could wait and see if you feel comfortable letting any of them in to your mind to handle the problem for you.”

 

“Why are you arranging meetings?”

 

“Would you prefer I don’t? Or would you prefer gaining all the knowledge you can so that when you meet Phil it can be on even ground?”

 

Clint shuddered. “Phil?”

 

“Phillip J. Coulson. Lieutenant, U.S. Army Rangers, Retired. FBI Counter-terrorism agent, Retired. Currently head of Stark Industries Security and undeclared Beta Sentinel Prime of New York City.”

 

Well that, was a whole hell of a lot of information he didn’t actually need and made him feel about two feel tall. But… _Phil._ Clint didn’t give a shit about the rest of it, because his Sentinel’s name was Phil, and Clint actually got to keep him. Clint stuck out his hand and pulled out his brightest grin. “Clint F. Barton. The Amazing Hawkeye, circus performer. Retired, I guess.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Yes, that widowed Sentinel who might give Tony Stark a run for his money is totally Jethro Gibbs. Shout out to all my fellow NCIS fans.


End file.
